


A waiting game in no man's land

by panamdea



Series: Bruises like watermarks [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 22:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18882931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panamdea/pseuds/panamdea
Summary: “Tycho, what if…” Hobbie struggled with the question, feeling disloyal for even thinking it, “what if Wes shouldn’t be flying again? What if…?” He trailed off, not wanting to even think about thewhat ifof Wes being too damaged, too unreliable to allow back in a cockpit.Tycho looked grave. “Then we won’t let him.”Hobbie tries to deal with the fallout when it becomes clear Wes’ return to the Rogues isn’t going to be as routine as he'd assumed. He wants, he’s always wanted, what’s best for Wes, even now when Wes seems intent on pushing away his closest friends. But when Wes opens up after his unsettling erratic behaviour puts Wedge in hospital, Hobbie has no idea how to help.Set afterIsard's Revenge.





	A waiting game in no man's land

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetad. Unanythinged by anyone other than me. Any and all mistakes therefore entirely my own - do please point them out.
> 
> ~~~~~
> 
> You seem like a soldier  
> Who's lost his composure  
> You're wounded and playing a waiting game  
> In no man's land no one's to blame  
>  _\- See the World, Gomez_
> 
> ~~~~~

_“Lighten up, Wes_ ”. Wedge all-but slammed his glass down as he snapped the words across the table. 

Hobbie’s heart sank. He hadn’t had particularly high hopes for the evening but he had thought that maybe a few drinks, maybe even some laughs and a chance to fall back into old habits might help ease some of the inexplicable tension that had been growing between his friends. He didn't know what had happened between them since the Rogues had been released from quarantine but he had not been enjoying the results. Now, hearing this phrase tossed in the opposite direction than he was used to, he understood that relations had deteriorated even further than he’d realised. 

“Is that an order, General?” Wes shot back. 

Wedge took a deep breath, obviously trying to get his temper under control. “You know it wasn’t. What is wrong with you?” 

“Nothing,” Wes bit out, “that being allowed back in an x-wing wouldn’t fix.” 

“I know it’s frustrating-” Wedge started.

“How would you know?” Wes demanded, “Have you ever been told you’re not trusted in a cockpit? Have you ever-”

“It’s not about trust, Wes.” Tycho cut him off, a sharp edge to his voice. “It’s about procedure. You don’t have any idea what it’s like not to be trusted to fly with your squadron.”

Wes looked momentarily taken aback, apparently realising for the first time exactly who he was complaining to, and reddened. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Tycho acknowledged the apology with a small nod but the tightness in his expression didn't ease. “I just want to fly again,” Wes added in a tone that was now more dispirited than angry.

“You can spend all the time you like in the simulators.” Wedge said reasonably. Hobbie was sure he'd had meant that to be helpful. It wasn’t. Wes glared at him, all his previous belligerence back.

“Yeah. Great. Because that’s just exactly the same.” Wes knocked back the last of his drink and stood, pushing his chair back noisily. “I’m going to get another drink.” He stalked off towards the bar.

“I’d like another drink,” Hobbie called after him without any real hope of getting one. He wasn’t surprised when Wes ignored him.

Wedge swore under his breath. 

“He needs to fly again,” Tycho said, his tone carefully dispassionate, “he’s starting to drive everyone crazy.” Wes hadn't been pushing Tycho as hard as Wedge in the last weeks, but even so it was clear he was testing Tycho's ability to be fair and unbiased. A decade ago, Hobbie reflected, Wes would probably have earned himself at least a black eye for that little argument.

“Starting?” Wedge asked flatly. 

“Yeah,” Hobbie agreed, “if he carries on being miserable much longer I might have to shoot him.” He kept his tone light but he was uneasy as he watched Wes make his way through the crowd. Across the bar, he caught sight of Corran and Myn. Myn was watching Wes’ progress too, his slight frown making it clear to Hobbie that he wasn’t the only one who was worried.

“Now you know what Wes goes through with you,” Tycho said dryly, pulling Hobbie’s attention back to his own table.

Hobbie frowned at him. “I may have to shoot you too, Tycho.”

“Shooting senior officers is frowned upon,” Tycho said gravely, “it might cost you promotions.”

“Then for all our sakes’ Wedge is just going to have to let him back in the cockpit.” 

“If it was just up to me he’d already be back on active duty,” Wedge said, obviously frustrated.

“So when is he going to be allowed back?” Hobbie asked.

Wedge shook his head. “You know I can’t discuss that with you. You’ll have to ask him.”

“Have _you_ talked about it with him? Does he even know you want him back on duty?” While they’d talked Wes had managed to flag down a bartender with surprising speed. Hobbie watched the bartender pour shots of something clear into four glasses in front of Wes. Maybe he was going to get that drink after all.

“Of course I have! I’m his CO, I’m involved in the assessment.” 

“Wedge, could you for a moment act like Wes’ friend instead of his commanding officer?” Hobbie asked, more asperity than he'd intended leaking into his tone. Wes was not blameless in whatever it was that was going on between them, but really Wedge could be helping the situation more than he apparently was. 

“You know I have to be both.” Wedge sounded stung and Hobbie realised he’d struck a nerve.

“Hobbie’s right, Wedge,” Tycho put in, “Wes has enough senior officers mulling him over, he doesn’t need General Antilles in the crowd. He needs you as his friend right now.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Wedge said, and Hobbie caught an edge of bitterness to the words that made his hurt confusion at Wes’ hostility obvious. “I don’t know what I’ve done.”

”Probably nothing. He’s having a hard time and you’re a safe target.” 

Wedge pulled a face. “Thanks for the amateur psychology, Tycho.”

Tycho shrugged. “He probably just needs you to make the effort to talk to him.”

”Right. Of course.” Wedge’s voice had an edge of sarcasm now. “Because he's seemed so open to conversation recently.”

”Why not try again now?”

“I don’t know.” Wedge glanced across the bar, the bite of anger replaced by uncharacteristic indecision. 

“Can’t hurt, can it?” Hobbie put in. He watched, not entirely surprised, as Wes downed the shots on the bar in front of him. Well maybe it would loosen him up enough to have an honest conversation with Wedge, even if it did mean that Hobbie was not getting that extra drink. 

Wedge sighed, standing. “Fine. I’ll go get a drink and talk to him.”

“I’d like another drink,” Hobbie said again. He wasn’t surprised when Wedge ignored him too.

Hobbie realised later, with the clarity of hindsight, that given Wes' frame of mind it should have been obvious the alcohol was not going to put him in the mood for a heart to heart with the man he’d been attempting to either avoid or antagonise for weeks. Equally obviously, Wedge’s attempt to attract Wes' attention by putting a hand on his shoulder was a mistake. 

From Hobbie’s perspective Wes’ initial defensive blow seemed entirely instinctive. Regardless of its intent it sent Wedge staggering back a step as Wes swung round, dropping into a fighting stance. Hobbie pushed to his feet, hearing Tycho’s startled exclamation as he rose beside him, and saw recognition pass across Wes’ face. Wedge must have seen it too, he visibly relaxed and started to straighten, and so was caught completely unprepared when Wes lashed out at him again. Swearing, Hobbie began to push through the crowd of startled bar patrons.

Hobbie knew that even under normal circumstances Wedge didn’t stand very much chance against Wes in a fistfight; Wes was better trained and a more skilled fighter and with the disadvantage of surprise Wedge would have less chance than normal. But it was obvious to Hobbie, as he got close enough to see the fight, that Wes had entirely lost his head and was being driven by a fury that completely lacked the cool detachment that usually made him such a difficult opponent. Even so, Wedge was barely managing to hold his own and as Hobbie reached the pair he stumbled back, slipped, fell and caught his head on the edge of a table as he went down.

Hobbie caught desperately at one of Wes’ arms as he lunged forwards. Wes tried to jerk his arm away but then Corran was beside him too and between them they pulled Wes bodily away from where Wedge was sprawled and forced him backwards against the bar.

Tycho pushed his way through the loose ring of startled onlookers shooting a confused look of inquiry at Hobbie as he passed. Hobbie shook his head, knowing the same confusion was all over his own face. As Tycho reached him, Wedge pushed himself up, wiping at the blood dropping from a cut across his temple, an obvious result of his collision with the table. Tycho, the look of confusion being replaced by one of concern, steadied him and Wedge paused, eyes scrunched shut, breathing heavily for a moment before straightening carefully. He was absolutely white and his eyes, when he opened them, were obviously unfocused. And that was probably a concussion right there, Hobbie thought grimly. _‘Couldn’t hurt’_? Kriffing stupid advice that had been.

Tycho broke the slightly stunned silence, speaking for them all, “Wes, what the hell?”

“Let go of me,” Wes spat, trying to pull his arms free. Hobbie had to tighten his grip but Corran hadn’t been a CorSec agent for nothing and retained his with no apparent effort.

Hobbie turned to look at Tycho, hoping the other man would have some control of the situation, and was just in time to watch in horror as Wedge collapsed unconscious to the floor.

~~~~~

Hobbie lent against the wall of the examination room, arms crossed, and regarded Wes thoughtfully. His friend sat slumped in a rigid plastic chair, shoulders hunched and hands clasped between his knees, the very picture of dejection. If he hadn’t seen him attack Wedge without provocation an hour earlier, Hobbie would have felt sorry for him.

He thought about it and, remembering the look of sudden stark horror on Wes’ face as Wedge had dropped limply in front of them, allowed himself to feel some sympathy. Corran, misinterpreting Wes’ frantic renewed attempt to get free, had kicked Wes’ legs out from under him and sat on him until he'd given up and gone still. But it had been obvious to Hobbie that in that moment Wes had entirely forgotten his anger with Wedge and had been trying to help. 

Tycho had done some rapid talking to forestall a security presence and, when an ambulance had arrived, dismissed Myn and Corran, ordering them to keep quiet about the evening’s events until he or Wedge had the chance to brief them. Corran had objected, arguing that he should come to the medical centre with them to keep an eye on Wes in case he tried anything more. But Tycho hadn’t relented and Corran had been forced to give in to the order with bad grace. Myn, on the other hand, hadn’t objected at all. He’d just nodded, a grave and slightly troubled expression of understanding on his face that had brought Talon squadron forcibly into Hobbie’s mind. 

On arrival at the medical centre the still unconscious Wedge had been whisked away for more serious treatment than the very conscious and barely bruised Wes had merited. Tycho had gone with him, ordering Hobbie to stay with Wes and ' _for the love of everything good in the galaxy keep him out of trouble_ '.

The shots of whatever it was Wes had knocked back before the evening had gone south had obviously kicked in by that point. Wes wasn’t reeling, but he wasn’t steady on his feet and Hobbie wondered what trouble exactly Tycho thought he'd be able to get into in that state. But he'd learned long ago that underestimating Wes' capacity for trouble was never wise, and since Wes never did go anywhere unarmed if he could help it, Hobbie hadn’t let that stop him from taking the hold-out blaster and couple of vibroblades he knew about. Wes hadn’t objected and Hobbie didn’t honestly know if that was good or bad. Thank kriff Wes had stuck with his fists during his impromptu brawl with Wedge or this could have been a very different scene. Luck or judgment Hobbie wondered? He hoped the latter because the former implied more trouble than he wanted to contemplate.

A rapid triage examination had assessed Wes as requiring no more treatment than a mild analgesic and a large, foul-smelling glass of electrolytes to help balance out the alcohol and induce a bit of sobriety. Hobbie had made Wes drink it and had been definitely alarmed by Wes’ lack of protest. Now they were being ignored until the examination room should be needed again.

Without warning the door opened and Tycho entered. Wes’ head jerked up and then he was on his feet, stepping urgently, if unsteadily, towards the other man.

“How is he?” he demanded.

Tycho ignored the question. “You want to explain what that was all about?”

Wes stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in surprise.

“What…? I don’t…” He trailed off. Tycho stared at him, arms crossed, expression hard. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know. Tycho, I don’t know.”

“That’s it? ‘I don’t know’ is your excuse for punching one of your best friends? What is wrong with you?” Tycho demanded.

“I just… want to fly again.” Wes muttered. He looked dazed. Hobbie wondered how much of that was shock and how much was the alcohol sloshing around his bloodstream.

“And you think trying to kill your commanding officer was the best strategy for achieving that?” Tycho asked, his voice cold.

Wes jerked as though he’d been hit and stared at Tycho, eyes wide in shock. “I didn’t!” he exclaimed, “Tycho, you know I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to kill him. I…” he stopped abruptly, the colour draining from his face. “Sithspit, Tycho. I didn’t hurt him that badly did I?” Which was another indication of how angry, drunk, or both he’d been, Hobbie thought. Wes usually knew exactly how much damage he’d inflicted on an opponent.

Tycho relented in the face of Wes’ obvious distress. “No.” he said shortly, “You didn’t hurt him that badly. He’s just got bruises and probably a concussion from hitting the table which was just bad luck. Nobody thinks you were trying to kill him.” He paused then added in obvious frustration, “Wes, what were you _thinking_?”

Wes had sunk back onto the chair, his head in his hands in relief as Tycho spoke. “I don’t know.” He moaned. “I just…” He looked up, desperation on his face. “I was so angry and he was just there and I don’t know!”

“And you were drunk.” That wasn’t a question.

“No! Yes. No, not that drunk.”

“So what’s your excuse?” Tycho asked implacably.

“I don’t know Tycho! Aren’t you listening to me?”

Tycho shook his head. “Not good enough, Wes.”

Not looking up, Wes muttered, “I don’t have anything else.” 

“Well figure it out.” Tycho said harshly. He turned away without giving Wes a chance to respond, not that he seemed about to, and jerked his head at the door for Hobbie to follow him.

In the corridor, Tycho looked more worried than Hobbie had seen him for a long time. Hobbie couldn’t blame him.

“How did we miss this, Hobbie?” Tycho asked, his voice low.

“I don’t know,” Hobbie admitted, “I knew he was angry about something, but I never thought-” he shook his head, wondering what he could have done to forestall this evening's events. He was usually so much better at interpreting Wes, he'd had years of practice after all. He wished Wes had spoken to him, wondered why he hadn't and tried not to feel too hurt by that.

“None of us did.” Tycho sighed. “Look, I’ve got to get back to Wedge. He’ll be awake soon and he’ll be confused. I’ll need to tell him what’s going on. Make Wes stay put, alright? I will order him to if I have to but if any of us are ever asked it would be better for everyone if we can honestly report that he just sat there and cooperated willingly.”

Hobbie nodded, understanding immediately. Whether or not Wes was going to be allowed back to active duty status and back in the cockpit was a decision that would be left to the medics, psychs and Wedge. Most of the squadron was of the opinion that Wes should have been flying already, but tonight’s…outburst…would absolutely not help Wes’ case when reported. Tycho was doing his level best to make sure that if if it reached the ears of the psych team it was in the best possible light he could manage.

“Damage control,” he said.

Tycho nodded. “I know what it’s like to not be trusted to fly and I don’t think -” a pained expression flashed across his face, “Wedge doesn’t think there’s any reason for Wes not to rejoin the squadron, but….”

“Yeah, but Wes just punched him in the face for no apparent reason so I’m not sure where Wedge will stand on that right now,” Hobbie said, sardonically.

Tycho managed a small snort of laughter. “Right.”

“Tycho, what if…” Hobbie struggled with the question, feeling disloyal for even thinking it, “What if Wes shouldn’t be flying again? What if…?” He trailed off, not wanting to even think about the _what if_ of Wes being too damaged, too unreliable to allow back in a cockpit.

Tycho looked grave. “Then we won’t let him.” Hobbie nodded, looking away, miserable. “Do you think that’s true?”

“No, I don’t.” At least, he hadn’t until tonight. But he still answered definitely, he didn’t want to imagine a world where it wasn’t true.

Tycho nodded. “Make him stay put. And if you can figure out what’s going on his head-” He broke off and turned away with a shrug that suggested he didn’t have any hopes that Hobbie could. 

More unsettled by Tycho’s last question than he wanted to admit, Hobbie let himself back into the examination room to find Wes sitting where he’d left him, gazing blankly at the floor.

Hobbie had never been able to see Wes hurting without doing anything he could to make things better for him. Despite Wes' erratic behaviour this evening, watching him now, all of Hobbie's protective instincts flared hard. He sighed. Even without Tycho's suggestion he was obviously always going to try to fix whatever knot Wes had tied himself up in. He always did. What else was he going to do?

"Wes?" When Wes didn't respond Hobbie crouched in front of his friend and peered into his face, alarmed that Wes didn't seem to have noticed his presence. He almost took Wes’ hands but, remembering what had happened when Wedge had touched him earlier, paused and hated himself a little bit for it. "Wes, are you ok?"

“Hobbie?” Wes focused on him slowly, eyes wide and stunned. Hobbie wondered how much of that was the dressing down Tycho had delivered and how much was still the alcohol, if he needed to call a medic back or wrap Wes in a blanket or- “Hobbie, I- I didn’t mean to…” Wes’ voice was unsteady.

“I know,” Hobbie said quietly as Wes trailed off. “Wes, what’s the matter?” Wes stared at him blankly and Hobbie had a terrible feeling he wasn’t really hearing him. “Wes, talk to me, please. I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

For a long moment Hobbie thought Wes wasn’t going to answer but then, voice still unsteady he said, “I won’t be allowed to fly again.” 

"Why not?"

“I just attacked a general, Hobbie. What's the review board going to say? ‘Oh, well, never mind, back in the cockpit with you, Major’? I’ll be discharged at best. I won’t be allowed back in an x-wing. I’ll be grounded, I won’t be-” his voice cracked “I won’t be a Rogue anymore.” 

Hobbie knew that by rights the least Wes could hope for was a reprimand, that he should really be looking at a prison sentence for assaulting a senior officer. But he also knew that right now telling him he maybe should have thought of that before throwing his fists around wouldn’t be helpful. He tried for something soothing.

“Wes, you might be too drunk to notice this, but Tycho is doing everything he can to make sure none of this goes outside those of us who were in the bar. And," he added, not quite as an afterthought, "I’m sure Wedge wouldn’t court martial you anyway.” 

Hope flared briefly in Wes’ eyes but then he dropped his face into his hands and groaned, “Kriff.”

“Yes,” Hobbie agreed, “that pretty much sums it up. But Wedge will forgive you, you know that.” 

“Why should he?” Wes asked, his voice strained.

“Because he knows-” Hobbie started, but Wes kept talking.

“I can’t forgive him.”

“What?” Hobbie asked, so surprised he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. “What do you mean? Forgive him for what?” 

“For leaving me. I don’t think I can forgive him for leaving me at Distna.”

Hobbie shook his head in reflexive denial. “Wes…” He trailed off because he had absolutely no idea what to say.

“And he doesn’t see that any thing’s changed," Wes continued, ignoring him, "he doesn’t see that I can’t look at him without knowing that he left me to die.”

“Wes, he didn’t-” Hobbie tried again but broke off as Wes pushed to his feet with sudden manic energy. Surprised, Hobbie stood too as Wes paced, words abruptly pouring out of him.

“At first I knew you were all dead. You must have been dead, because we were out-numbered and there was no way we could win. I just couldn’t figure out how I was the only survivor. And then you came back.” Wes stopped and swung round to face Hobbie, eyes full of conflicting anger, grief and wild happiness. “Do you have any idea how happy I was when you came back?”

“We thought you were dead too.” Hobbie said. “I thought-” But Wes cut him off, and Hobbie realised he'd been about to blurt out _'I thought I’d lost you and it felt like loosing myself'_ , something he hadn't fully processed himself and wasn't prepared to talk about just then.

“You know what? I get that, I do. I was there I saw the odds. I saw the recovered battleroms. They made me watch them, you know, commentate on them,” Hobbie felt sick at the thought, “I get it. But what I don’t get is why you didn’t look for me. Look for us. You left us without even bothering to see if there was any chance we were alive.”

Hobbie felt a twist of sick guilt and hurt at Wes’ words because they were nearly true and so painfully wrong. None of the surviving Rogues had been happy about leaving Wes and the others at Distna, alive or dead and not even knowing which. Hobbie knew Wedge had felt as much guilt as Wes could possibly hope for. But he’d thought Wes understood. He wasn’t stupid, he’d seen more than enough combat to- and he’d never said anything- surely he'd know-

“There wasn’t time, Wes. There’s no way you should have survived what happened to your x-wing, it was a mess. We thought you were dead and there wasn’t time.” Hobbie heard his own pain rough in his voice, felt his chest tighten again with the same visceral horror he’d felt when Wes’ x-wing had flashed off his instruments. He jerked his hands up instinctively trying to push the memory away. “It was all over so quickly.” 

He wondered how he could make Wes understand how it had been. How rapidly the battle had gone from bad to unwinnable, to sudden rescue and evacuation without any time to assess what was going on, let alone to find the bodies of their friends. If there had even been bodies to find. More, how he could make him understand what Wedge had gone through; how Wedge had blamed himself; how of all the pilots he'd lost that day Wes’ loss had hit him the hardest. Wes was Hobbie’s best friend, but Hobbie knew, without jealousy or rancour, that Wedge and Wes had come back from Wraith squadron with a bond he didn’t share and he’d seen just how badly Wedge had been affected when he’d thought Wes was dead. Hobbie liked to think Wedge would be almost as badly hurt when he died.

“You were gone. We thought you were all dead. Wedge had eight live pilots to think about. It wasn’t about you, Wes, you know that. It was about Wedge keeping the people left under his command alive. He thought you were dead. We all did.” 

“He listed me as missing!” Wes’s voice broke and Hobbie heard the raw pain, saw it in his face, every line of his body. “Wedge listed me as missing, not killed in action. Missing. I saw the reports, Hobbie. Didn’t think I would? Cracken brought me in to verify it was Wedge who sent that message about Ciutric. I saw his reports and he listed me as _missing_.”

Horrified understanding twisted in Hobbie’s heart. How could he not have realised that Wes had been nursing a terrified fear that his friends had thought he was alive and had left him to die? How had they let Wes convince himself he wasn’t wanted? Wasn’t needed? He opened his mouth to try to find the words to tell Wes how much he needed him-

“I listed you as missing because I hadn’t seen a body.” Wedge’s voice was quiet, but it’s effect was instant.

Startled, Hobbie turned, wondering how neither of them had heard the door open and how much of Wes’ tumbled, painful confession Wedge, and Tycho behind him, had heard.

Wes moved faster, and as he took a step forward Hobbie saw Wedge flinch. It was an almost imperceptible movement, so tiny it was unlikely more than a handful of people outside of the room would have known him well enough to have noticed. But Hobbie saw the blood drain from Wes’ face again and knew that he had seen it too. Wes stopped, abruptly still, the expression on his face despairing. 

Wedge continued, his voice still quiet. “I only had a stranger’s word that there were no survivors. It wasn’t enough to call it. And I wasn’t in any position to argue the point if the rest of us were going to live,” he paused, and his expression tightened, “But you knew that. Right, Wes?”

Wes nodded, jerkily. “Yes.” His voice was almost a whisper. “Yes, of course. I just…” 

Wedge regarded him steadily, his expression neutral. “Did you get the need to hit me out of your system?” he asked eventually.

Wes nodded, again. “Wedge, I’m-” His voice broke. 

“Don’t,” Wedge said, an edge to his voice, “there’s nothing more for you to say right now.”

“Wedge, please.” Wes plunged on regardless, “I need to explain-”

“No. You don’t get to explain anything right now.” Wedge’s voice was flat and there was a coldness in his eyes that Hobbie had rarely seen directed at another Rogue. Kriff, whatever Wedge had heard he hadn’t understood anything, had he? 

“I’ll request a transfer.” Wes said desperately. “Back to training. I’m good, they’ll take me back on. I can do more good training new pilots than flying if no one trusts me anymore and-”

“No.” 

Wes stared at Wedge, despair on his face. “Please, I can still be useful, _please_ don’t-” 

“ _Shut up and listen to me, Major Janson_.” Wedge cut him off brutally. “I will tell you what you are going to do. You will attend the review board’s assessment, you will do _whatever_ the board requires and you _will_ be released back to active service. I want you back on duty in Rogue Squadron. I don’t care how good a trainer you are, you are one of my pilots and I am not going to loose you to the nursery because you feel guilty. You do not get to martyr yourself because you did something stupid. Do you understand me?”

This, Hobbie thought a little wildly, was not quite what he’d had in mind when he’d told Wedge he had to let Wes know he wanted him flying with the Rogues again. “Wedge-” He started.

“This doesn’t require your input, Major Klivian.” Wedge cut him off without looking at him. Hobbie winced at the reprimand his rank and surname implied. Behind Wedge he saw Tycho shake his head slightly, warning him off saying anything further. “Major Janson, do you understand me?” Wedge asked again, his voice hard.

“Yes sir.” Wes' acknowledgement sounded automatic and Hobbie didn’t think he’d really taken in what Wedge had said. Wedge didn't seem to notice, or if he did, ignored it. He swung around and, still slightly unsteadily, left the room without another word. Tycho shot Hobbie a look he couldn't interpret beyond consternation and followed.

Wes stood frozen, wide-eyed and pale, breathing too rapidly and looking so lost Hobbie instinctively wanted to put his arms around him and tell him everything would be alright even if he wasn't sure it was true. He wondered helplessly whether he should be more worried about whatever it was that was going on in Wes' head or the sudden, painful gulf between his two friends. 

He had no idea what do to about either.


End file.
